“If this guy bets a half million dollars on a coin toss,” Ralph said, “then he’s an idiot.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s not thinking of the 450K as his money.”
The camera panned to a close-up of a guy who didn’t comprehend that he was risking a decade worth of his salary.
“We have your family here,” said Howie Mandell, the ’80s comedian known for putting a glove on his head and present-day Deal or No Deal host. “Let’s see what they have to say.”
They panned to his sister. “I think you should go for it. You’re such a special person. You deserve this!”
“Yeah,” my dad said sarcastically. “You deserve to win a million dollars on a game show.”
“That briefcase,” I said in near rage, “isn’t capable of judging your character!”
My father laughed.
“I believe in you!” said another sibling.
“It doesn’t matter if you believe in him!” Ralph yelled at the screen. As a family, Cicirellis get very emotional about logic.
And then finally the host walked to this fool’s poor mother. “It’s a lot of money you’re risking,” she said. “Don’t be greedy. Be sensible.”
And suddenly you just felt…awful. This poor woman, who’d raised three stupid and greedy children, was watching them gamble away possibly the biggest break that family had ever had. Sadly, her voice of reason was drowned out by the cheering of the crowd and the encouragement of her misguided children.
He jumped up, waved his arms in the air like a home-plate umpire, and yelled out, “NO DEAL!”
He should have taken the deal. A minute later he would be gone from the stage with nothing but a buck in his pocket and a lifetime of regrets. His “this is my moment” fantasy was over, and it came with a $450,000 price tag. Meanwhile, my father and I jumped up out of our motel beds and high-fived. That moment of schadenfreude-driven unity far eclipsed any heartfelt chat that long weekend could have offered.
But looking back at the photos from that trip, I had a slight bit of sympathy for the contestant.
“I can handle the pressure!” he yelled to the crowd at one point, receiving thunderous applause.
But he couldn’t handle the pressure—not even close. He was completely controlled by the cheers. Since the beginning of Fakebook I had felt like that. I was hearing two sets of applause—my unknowing audience’s cheers for what I claimed to do, and my knowing audience’s cheers for me claiming to have done it. One I loved, the other I hated. Yet, I realized the knowing audience’s influence was clearly stronger than that of my unknowing viewers—after all, I kept doing it. The support from the people I fooled bothered me when I thought about it. I didn’t have to think about it, though, so I often didn’t.
The people I saw, however, were the ones in on it. I could actually hear the laughter from Joe, or the encouragement from Elizabeth or Ted…and especially my father. Their support was tangible and immediate.
In truth, when I was probably ready to hang up Fakebook months ago, my collaborators had encouraged me to continue. I wasn’t overtly pressured, but I was fueled by the continued surprise and delight at what they added. This was social media storytelling, which meant it was participatory. My audience was part of the cast, and they played their parts around every post. They made the story better by being part of it.
So I had Fake Dave and Fake Ralph recycle our trip through the Blue Ridge Mountains—and their trip was the one on which we bonded most.
That Friday night, I took Juror 10 to a themed cover-band night at Bowery Ballroom. It was a mistake.
Apparently the only thing more depressing than the first time you see KISS without makeup is seeing Mini KISS without makeup. Watching those poor dwarfs out of costume and loading their tiny instruments into some van between sets—it’s a glimpse into a side of life you don’t want to see.
It was supposed to be a fun Friday night full of tribute bands, including the top-billed Tragedy, a heavy-metal tribute to the Bee Gees. Joe Moscone and I had seen them before, and they are unbelievably entertaining. It’s such an absurd spectacle, full of backup singers in angel wings and some guy dancing around with a feather boa. It had been a really fun night full of weird, unexpected highlights—including a surprise cameo by Moby.
So when Joe was pulling a group of my favorite Handler people together—a group I knew I’d be seeing a whole lot less of—I thought it’d be a knowingly silly and fun thing to take Juror 10 to.
Unfortunately, this glimpse into the sad visage of life on the road as a dwarf cover act was not quite the aphrodisiac I had hoped. Even before we were confronted with the moral issues of watching a band whose main selling point was their disability, I could just tell we didn’t have the same sensibility. She was reluctant to jump into the absurd spirit of the night and not especially interested in mixing with my friends. I felt a little too self-aware to really melt into the heavy takes on the Bee Gees’ tasty grooves.
Juror 10 and I—we had a really nice moment in Washington Square Park exactly when I needed a moment most. But “just a moment” seemed increasingly like all it would be. I was okay with that. Fakebook was about to end; I was about to start a new job; and my whole life was about to expand again.
So without feeling like there was much keeping me in the city, the next day I took a train to New Jersey, and spent a rainy Saturday and Sunday in my parents’ empty house.
On the train ride down, I looked at my calendar. It was March 16. I wanted to end Fake Dave’s story in the middle of the next week. From there I’d not post for one week—giving people time to discover the ending. Then, on April 1, I’d confess.
In between would be my last day at Handler and my first day at LiveWired. And on April 2, I’d turn twenty-seven. I had to keep reminding myself of this. It was the first year I wasn’t throwing a party. I really didn’t know if I’d have enough friends left to throw one.
I’d felt like I needed the comforts of home. It was an hour away, and I hadn’t been there since Thanksgiving. But this weekend, that’s exactly where I was supposed to be.
Dave Cicirelli
20 minutes until Jeopardy.
The $500 answer is “this jackass f’d his life and career so he could spend six months smelling like piss with nothing to show for it but a bow tie tattoo.” God, I feel the walls closing in…
Like · Comment
Bryan Cassidy Who is David Cicirelli!
yesterday · Like
Dave Cicirelli Thanks.
yesterday via mobile · Like
Kristin Boros Williamson i dont even know you but IM proud of u!!! takes a lot of balls to do what you did!!!!!!!!! most people would have stayed where u were and STAYED miserable!! you live and learn right?? :O) xo
yesterday · Like
Dave Cicirelli My dad said “he’s glad I’m finally ready to grow up.” Night went down hill from there. Screw this. I was fine living on the road.
yesterday via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli
Nasty fight with the folks last night, and was shown a letter that…I need to deal with.
At Sandy Hook…thinking.
Like · Comment · Share
Steve Cuchinello Dave, you were a matter of feet from my apartment. You need to come by. I want to see the tattoo.
less than a minute ago · Like
It was the first time in nearly half a year that I had posted a photo that was undoctored and in the moment. I was actually there—at Sandy Hook on March 17—thinking. I was thinking how funny it was to post an honest message that applied to both my lives. How strange it was that Fake Dave and I were crossing paths—him about to end his adventure, and me about to start one of my own. It felt strange to be in the same place at the same time, as strange as it had when I first watched my online persona cross the George Washington Bridge without me.
Now, six months later, I was used to seeing my image as someone else. It felt invasive, almost intimate, to take a picture of our shared shadow. I kicked off my shoes and walked out onto the sand, still cold and wet from last night’s rain. The wind was kicking up and pushing against my lightweight jacket. I carefully stepped into the frigid March ocean water, barely able to tolerate the lapping waves as they soaked the bottom of my dark denim jeans.
I looked south, away from the Manhattan skyline, and did the game I always do: look at just the right angle so the entire horizon fills my vision—with nothing to focus on but the vast ocean meeting the vast sky.
Around my ankles, I felt the waves recede—and with it, the grains of sand flooded out from under my heels, causing me to sink slightly into the ocean floor. It was a sensation I’d felt on those summer nights with the friends I grew up with, and those fall afternoons without them.
And it was a feeling we were feeling now—Fake Dave and I—separately and together. But who was the person I was sharing this moment with? Who exactly was Fake Dave?
Fake Dave was deeply flawed, I concluded. He was a guy who ran away from things. He was a guy who was fleeing the narrowing of his future. So he’d jump into a new possibility. Yet each new adventure soon became old routine, and the disappointment would crush him. Because what he was really after was a happy ending. Don’t I feel that way? Doesn’t everyone? But in real life, there are no endings. Life simply goes on.
Fortunately for Fake Dave, this moment wasn’t real life. It was fiction. After all we’d been through, it was time to give him his happy ending. It was time for him to overcome his flaw and become the man deserving of the attention and goodwill he’d received. I wanted to give him something worth the trials I’d put him through.
So after all his running away, I gave him something to finally run toward. I gave him a strange, complicated, rewarding mess of his own making.
Dave Cicirelli
So I found out that Jonathon contacted my family. Kate came back home and she’s pregnant.
BTW. Now that I want a DNA test, she’s Amish again. The only thing that could make today any worse is if the Irish were somehow more drunk than usual. Happy St. Patrick’s Day, everyone.
Like · Comment
Matt Campbell Wow. Is this in addition to the letter you have to deal with? Or is the letter you had to deal with from Jonathon re: his prego daughter? You never really specified…And what the hell do you do with your Census form?
3 days ago · Like
Matt Riggio is this your fucking kid Dave? When will we know?!
3 days ago · Like
Joe Moscone I’ll start by saying that I’m VERY glad to hear you’re home. However this Kate news…get a paternity test. I’m not trying to be a dick, but we both know that it’s quite possibly (read: likely) that her time with you might have triggered some “questionable behavior” since she’s left you. It’s what girls like her do.
3 days ago · Like
Elizabeth Lee O.M.G. David…is it yours?
3 days ago via mobile · Like
Elizabeth Lee Joe, I usually don’t agree with you…but in this case, I do. You should def. get a paternity test.
3 days ago via mobile · Like
Mary Carroll Cuz maybe you should get some drinks tonight…
3 days ago via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli Is there ANY chance that Jonathon will allow his Amish grand son to get a DNA test?
3 days ago via mobile · Like
Kevin Conway Well at least all your Maury Povich experience will finally come in handy…
3 days ago via mobile · Like
Ted Kaiser So many questions…I had given up feeling bad for you, but now there’s a kid involved. I hope for his/her sake that you get your life together man.
3 days ago via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli I don’t know if its mine. She did cheat on me at least once. But what are my options? I mean, can I leave her to raise a bastard child that may be mine in a community that is NOT cool with the single mother thing…? I mean, I still care about her. Can I abandon her if she’s in need? Am I a sucker? What a spectacular mess.
2 days ago via mobile · Like
Erin Brennan Hanson O.M.G.
2 days ago · Like
Lauren Shockey maybe you can write up your adventures and pitch it as a lifetime movie.
2 days ago via mobile · Like
Erin Brennan Hanson “Confessions of an Amish Baby Daddy”?
2 days ago via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli I’ve racked my brain, and there doesn’t even seem to be a Morrissey song that perfectly encapsulates this situation. Perhaps I should write my story. Like Jim White once sang “what wonderful fiction I will craft from this terrible pain.”
2 days ago via mobile · Like
Steve Cuchinello Dave, its time to man up. If this isn’t a slap in the face of reality I don’t know what is. Your self destruction is one thing but now you are talking about a kid’s life and that has to teach you to grow up. If its yours it’s time to be a man.
2 days ago via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli It must be hard to read type this small from atop your high horse, Steve.
2 days ago via mobile · Like
Steve Cuchinello Oh yes I forgot the last 6 months has constantly reminded me of your excellent choices in judgement. What was I thinking.
2 days ago via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli
Ok, let’s get to it. Names that will ruin (possibly) my baby’s life. Go!
Like · Comment
Ara Arnn David Cicirelli, Jr.
yesterday via mobile · Like
Annette Pandolfo De Luca Sue, but only if it is a boy.
yesterday · Like
Chris Mitarotondo sapphire
yesterday via mobile · Like
Kristen Scalia Sissy Cicirelli
yesterday via mobile · Like
Stephen Ortez Ismael
yesterday via mobile · Like
Aaron Summers Aaron Summers
yesterday · Like
Ted Kaiser Mark Messier Cicirelli
yesterday via mobile · Like
Howard Tsu Hettoit Cicirelli
yesterday via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli Good suggestions.
Let’s remember, this kid’ll be going to an Amish school. Can we think of anything for that specific breed of school yard bully?
Combustible Engine Cicirelli?
yesterday via mobile · Like
Dave Cicirelli I’ve reviewed the entries and have decided Ara showed the most wit. Well done.
Regardless, I’m naming my son Sparkles, and if it’s a daughter I’ll name her George Foreman Jr.
yesterday via mobile · Like
MARCH 29: End of the Road.
When it all began…
I’ve been through a lot. An awful lot. So, so much. I think I’ve reached the end of the road.
I’m writing this from a coffee shop in Intercourse Pennsylvania. The same coffee shop where I wrote a post leading to my first visit to the Amish. I’m about to return.
It reminds me of the classic philosophical question that asks “can a man step into the same river twice?”
It feels an appropriate thing to ponder just before my return…and my reunion with Kate. I’m a different man than the inspirational figure who thought freedom meant walking over the GW Bridge and across three states to find a niche religious community just to toilet paper their horse and buggy.
When I was last here, I was a vandal, an unrepentant hate criminal who indignantly left with one of their daughters, whom I’d taken as a lover.
When I rejoin them, as I step into that same river twice, I know the waters will be choppy. But as the river changes, so has the man. I’m stronger now, strengthened by the confid
ence that only a fashionable tattoo can provide.
I started this journey running from responsibility, now I run towards one. It’s come so full circle, it almost feels scripted.
Although Kate being pregnant with (probably) my child is the unplanned driving force for me to adopt the Amish way of life, I’m at peace with this. I’m not running away any more.
I used to feel so compelled to have more and more. I was an experience glutton, discarding all that I had because I was seduced by the abstract “thing that I’m missing.” Now I see that only thing I was missing was maturity. The maturity to know that my friends and family weren’t obstacles keeping me from the world, they were protection from its cruelty and danger. I always knew how important it was for them to look up to me, but I didn’t realize how important it is to me to look down on them. To all my friends, I’m sorry for taking you for granted.
This will likely be my last post. I’m leaving the world of Facebook with a heart full of sadness for what I’m leaving behind…but also full of hope for the future I’m committed to build, and the roots I hope to grow.
I almost lost everything in my inspirational search for more. Now I’m ready for a simple, honest life in a community that I always hated, to win back the woman I think I love, so I can raise what is quite possibly my child. Father hood with a twist.
Finally, a wacky adventure I’m excited to settle down with. Even though I’m no longer a citizen of the road, I still encourage us all to march into the future with no destination other than to court the many possibilities that lie just around the next bend.
Look how well it worked for me!
Fakebook Page 25